


The Cloaked Guardian

by crowntheking



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, References to Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowntheking/pseuds/crowntheking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark yearns for a hero to save her from being Alayne, and gets one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cloaked Guardian

Each day got worse and worse. She was Alayne, the brown-haired bastard daughter of Petyr Baelish, but long ago she was an auburn-haired princess named Sansa Stark. Her chest ached each day as she longed to shed her mask and become Sansa once again. But she had to wait. She hoped a plan would come to her one day, an idea, anything to help her escape. She was afraid. Part of her always whispered to her in the middle of the night, before she could sleep.  
  
 _He’ll save you._  
  
She would fold her hands and clutch them to her chest, trying to slow her pounding heart and stifle the ache in her heart.  
  
 _He’ll save you. He always does._  
  
Maybe it was true, she would think. She would still listen to everything said, and try to devise a plan on her own, but when she was down the voice would come again and whisper to her, the same things. She dared to hope, as much as there was room for in her shattered heart, and there wasn’t much.  
  
Littlefinger became bolder with his touches. She began to feign illness to avoid them. Sometimes saying she had eaten too much at supper, other times saying her moon blood made her tummy ache. That stopped him the first couple of times, but he was too smart. Too smart. He began to quirk eyebrows at her, but then he’d let it go. Then he’d start frowning, disappointed and a bit angry, but he’d still let it go. Recently, he would frown deeply and reach out, grasping her shoulder as if to comfort her, but then squeeze a bit too hard.  
  
He was warning her, she knew. He was displeased. She couldn’t displease her father. No, he wasn’t her father, but still she could not afford to displease him. He never had her beaten like Joffrey did in King’s Landing, but in some way the touches were just as bad. When he kissed her, she had to fight to stop from retching in his mouth. Sometimes, she thought about letting her sickness take hold of her, but was always too afraid of what his response would be.  
  
Joffrey was to the point. Displeasing him would mean getting beaten. But Littlefinger was cold and a different sort than Joffrey. He had Ser Dontos, her Florian, murdered. He could do the same to her, she thought, and such thoughts struck horrible fear into her. He needed her now, but when she lost her value, what would happen to her?  
  
The voices would whisper again, in response to those thoughts. Sometimes, she tried to push them away. She wanted to scream and cry sometimes. She couldn’t trust anyone, she wanted to say. No one at all, no matter how much she wanted to. But the voices would whisper again.  
  
 _He never betrayed you._  
  
He left without me, she wanted to say. He left me all alone in King’s Landing to be devoured by lions.  
  
 _That’s only because you did not want to go._  
  
She knew it was true, but she would push the thoughts away anyway, and sink back into Alayne. Sink back into the mask. But such thoughts came more and more frequently, and she lost sleep over it. Her tummy would ache and she would skip supper sometimes. Her skin paled, and underneath her eyes darkened. She began to look sickly, and Littlefinger stopped touching her so much and would instead look at her with concern.  
  
This was good. Now he wouldn’t squeeze her shoulders so hard, and know she was a liar.  
  
But then the day came, the day that changed everything.  
  
Alayne Stone was walking at night to the kitchens for a quick bite of a lemoncake and a warm glass of watered down wine. Sometimes it helped her sleep, and if not the sweetness was always pleasant.  
  
But before she got there, a cloaked figure came up and gently grabbed her arm. The only thing she could tell was whoever was under the hood was very tall and broad.  
  
“Follow me, and I’ll take you somewhere safe.” The whisper was so quiet she barely heard it, but her heart leapt into her throat.  
  
 _The Hound- he’s come to save me. Oh, I knew it._  
  
She reached forward, clutching the loose sleeve of the figure’s cloak, and was led through the Gates of The Moon and outside. When they stepped outside of the tower for the long road ahead, there were guards. The cloaked figure unsheated a sword and took them down easily and gracefully, and Sansa Stark watched with admiration.  
  
They took horses from the stable, and made their way away from the Gates as silently as possible. The cloaked figure did not speak, nor remove his hood, but that did not worry her.  
  
 _We will speak soon enough, and we will speak of many things. I have so much to say. I hope he has been gentled, like I prayed. I wonder where he has been._  
  
But she kept her questions to herself. Her cloaked guardian seemed deeply troubled, but she did not press. There would be time for that when the danger was over.  
  
Days and nights flew by, and she was given a hooded cloak herself before they reached the Bloody Gate. She knew her cloaked guardian could easily take down anyone who sought to harm her, but this way was better. She wore it constantly, and they passed by easily.  
  
Finally, they when they were far enough from the Vale itself, her cloaked guardian stopped their horses and whistled a tune into the woods.  
  
Moments later, a horse trotted up. It was a white mare, although you could hardly tell the color of it’s coat because of how filthy it was. This worried Sansa.  
  
“Did something happen to your other horse? I remember you riding a black warhorse. From what I know, you were quite fond of it.” Her voice was hoarse from not speaking in days, but her hooded guardian heard her.  
  
“I-” The cloaked guardian turned towards her. “My lady, I’ve never rode a black horse.”  
  
 _My lady?_  
  
“Who are you?” Sansa Stark stepped back, suddenly frightened. The stranger reached up and lowered the hood. Underneath was the face of a young woman, although not very pretty. Her hair was filthy and yellow as straw, she had a squared jaw and crooked teeth, but the bluest eyes Sansa had ever seen.  
  
She realized how stupid she was. This woman was not as tall nor as broad as The Hound was, and The Hound wouldn’t have stayed silent the entire trip. He was always chatty enough, although his words weren’t always enjoyable and his stories were mostly unpleasant.  
  
“I am Brienne of Tarth.” The woman bowed. “I was sent by your Lady Mother, before her death, to rescue you. I intend to take you somewhere that you’ll be safe. I hope you’ll forgive me for not speaking before. I was afraid we were being followed, and did not want anyone to eavesdrop and know I was stealing you away.”  
  
A horrible ache filled Sansa’s chest. She tried not to cry. “Thank you for saving me, but I… I thought you were someone else.”  
  
Brienne looked confused. “Someone else? Who?”  
  
“It doesn’t matter.” She said, swallowing the rawness in her throat. “It doesn’t matter.”


End file.
